Hiding
by InDiGo MaRcH
Summary: “I notice you,” she said, surprising him by putting a hand to his cheek. “I always have.” ONESHOT! Neville/Hannah POST WAR


**Hiding  
****A Harry Potter ONE SHOT!  
****By: Indigo March  
****(Tha's ME!)**

Neville didn't know why everyone kept calling him a hero. He did what the next guy would do—people were in danger and he protected—instinct was all that it was.

Neville looked down at the silver sword glistening with blood. It had just been a snake, yet he felt guilty for killing it. It had been _alive_, and _he_ had destroyed it—Voldemort's snake or not.

He sighed, looking out at the view from the Astronomy Tower. Bodies still littered the ground—friends and foes alike—, the deaths of innocents leaving him feeling empty and alone. But he embraced it. Being alone—away from his newly acquired admirers—gave him room to think.

He didn't _feel_ like a hero. He knew that much. Complete strangers were calling him brave, eager to shake the 'Slayer of Nagini's' hand.

Before the war, he would've enjoyed the attention, but now he just wanted to be Neville, the 'awkward, clumsy, and forgetful accidental Gryffindor'.

No one had noticed him before this and, if he was honest with himself, he preferred it that way, even if he had played a huge part in Voldemort's final downfall.

"I'm still no hero," he said to himself.

"Sure you are," a gentle voice said to him, causing him to swing around in alarm, finding himself nearly face-to-face with Hannah Abbott.

"H-Hannah?" he stuttered (same old Neville in the 'girl department', unfortunately) "What are you doing up here?"

She shrugged with a smile and moved next to him, resting her elbows on the ledge of the balcony. "Same as you, I guess," she said softly, "to listen to myself think."

He chuckled, surprising himself. "It _is _hard to think down there, huh?"

She turned to smile at him. "I bet it's harder for you," she said, nudging him playfully, "what with all your new 'fan girls'."

Neville blushed. "I don't want all that."

She frowned. "Why wouldn't you? I bet most of those girls—"

"Have never noticed me until now," he said, cutting her off smoothly. She stared at him and he smiled sadly. "What? It's true. No one ever notices Neville Longbottom."

"I notice you," she said, surprising him by putting a hand to his cheek. "I always have."

He stared at her, heat rising to his face. "You have?"

Hannah blushed too, but her voice was firm. "Yes."

Neville wondered if she was lying, just another girl who saw him in a new light—but he saw tears in her eyes as she took her hand off his cheek. "I was afraid you never noticed me," she whispered.

"That's ridiculous!" Neville cried out, surprising himself. "Who _wouldn't_ notice you? You're—you're _Hannah Abbott."_

She giggled. "I know, and _you're_ Neville Longbottom."

"You're smart, and funny, and really cute—" he blushed again, gaping at her. "I mean…you're smart, and funny…and, uh," he ended lamely.

Hannah smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Neville."

He gulped. "Hannah, I—"

"Neville!" someone called, her voice echoing up the stairs leading to their position in the tower. "Where are you?"

Neville groaned. "Gran."

Hannah laughed and surprised him by tugging on his hand.

"Follow me; I know where we can hide."

Neville felt a foolish grin spread across his face as she laced her fingers through his, pulling him towards a door he had noticed before but hadn't really thought about.

Hannah performed _Alohomora_ and opened the door, leading him inside. It was dark and Neville blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted, showing him the outline of several objects.

"Hannah, is this a broom closet?"

He could actually _hear _the blush in her voice as she said, "_Maaaaybe_."

He snorted and tripped over an upturned bucket, knocking against a shelf of cleaning supplies and falling to the floor, yanking Hannah with him, the bottles of sticky cleaning potions falling from the shelves and upturning all over of them. They both cried out in shock at the loud crashing noise that came with the shelves collapsing to the floor. Both of them clapped a hand over each other's mouth, hearts pounding in their ears as they listened for any sound of Augusta Longbottom.

When no sound was heard outside the closet for nearly five minutes, Neville let out a roar of laughter. Hannah, who had fallen on top of him and was covered in the most cleaning liquid, slapped him on the chest.

"Ouch!" he said, still grinning. "Oh, wow. You're sticky."

"It's in my hair," she said, sounding more interested than upset, unlike any other girl. If she had been someone more like Lavender Brown, she'd be crying her eyes out. She suddenly looked down at him, noticing she was still on top of him. "Oh, I'm so sorry—" she said, beginning to move off him. Suddenly, Neville grabbed her hand.

"It's OK," he blurted.

It was still dark in the closet, neither of them bothering to light their wands—neither of them would be surprised if they had temporarily forgotten they even _had_ wands.

Hannah sat up, pulling him up into a sitting position with her. "Neville, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Hannah. You can ask me anything."

"Do you—I mean…have you ever thought about where you're going to be after all this happened?"

Neville leaned his back against the wall of the closet, thinking hard. "No, I guess not. I've only seen the war ahead of me. I've never thought about afterwards. I guess because I wasn't sure if I'd live to see life after the war."

"Oh," she said.

"Why do you ask?"

She linked her arm through his, sending chills up his spine. "I was just wondering. I thought about it all the time—especially when I was with you, going on raids during the Student Rebellion before the war began."

He smiled. "Those raids were fun. We'd spray paint the walls and draw on the Slytherin portraits—"

Hannah laughed. "Yeah, it was this year that we became such close friends."

"And I'm truly glad that we did," he said.

"So am I," she said softly. Something in her tone threw him off.

"What is it?" he asked.

"What's what?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said too quickly, her voice sounding somewhat strangled.

"Hannah," he said softly. "Tell me."

She took a deep breath. "Neville, every time I am around you I can barely breathe. My hands shake and my face always feels like it's on fire. At first I ignored it, thinking it was just hormones and that maybe I had a teeny tiny crush on you. But as I've spent time with you this year I've found myself _falling _for you harder than I thought was possible. I can't stop _thinking_ about you, _talking _about you, or even _living_ without you. You're constantly on my mind, wherever I go, and it scares me. And earlier, when Voldemort set you completely on fire, _I _felt like I was on fire, and now I probably sound like a complete idiot, talking about feelings I don't even understand—"

"Hannah," he interrupted gently, "you _never_ sound like an idiot."

"There's a first time for everything, though," she whispered.

He took her chin in his hand, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling oddly brave with what he was about to do. "Hannah, are you saying you're in love with me?"

She cleared her throat. "I think I am."

"Oh," he said. "I—erm—I love you, too."

"What?" she said breathlessly.

"I think so. Maybe. It's highly possible."

She laughed hesitantly.

"Am I supposed to kiss you now?" he asked uncertainly.

She giggled. "That would be nice."

And so he did just that.

**~*~*~**

**Eh…this was okay. Maybe. Heh.**

**Please review?**

**:D**


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